This World Without You
by de-anon
Summary: When Jean hits his head, he wakes up in an AU where he and Marco were able to join the Military Police before the Battle of Trost occurs. However, as major (spoilerific) events unfold, Jean struggles between his identity as the man he was before Trost and the man he'd become fighting in the Recon Corps. Can he cling to this dream where Marco lives, or will he wake to face reality?
1. Prologue

**SNK kink meme de-anon, some bittersweet jeanmarco for you. My first SNK fic. Enjoy? First chapter is a prologue, therefore short. Chapter length will vary.**

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Jean saw Marco today.

Glinting in the reflection of a titan's eyes, half a foot from where he crested a rooftop to avoid snapping teeth and a clumsily swinging fist.

Too close.

Crushed tiles pelted Jean's back. He moved on instinct-the clash of his boots on another rooftop-the whir of 3DMG propelling him forward, gas exploding out the end as ropes shot him through a twisting maneuver. Gravity reversed itself, but Jean leaned slightly and righted himself to avoid crashing into a bell tower.

Metal clattered uselessly against stone and gravity slipped.

Hissing, Jean tilted and swung like a man from a vine, angling his feet to slam against the opposite building. He pushed off in a horizontal run and sprung into open space. Then, emerging from the alleyway, Jean shoved his boot into the back of a titan's neck, swords swinging in an arch. He sliced deep.

"-Jean, stop wasting your gas."

Jean gritted his teeth, catching a glimpse of Eren from the corner of his eye, followed by Mikasa. Green cloaks fluttered behind quick movements like solid wings behind them.

"Follow your own damn advice," Jean shot back.

"Hanji said to capture them alive anyway, you idiot," Eren shouted. They parted ways then looped back around a crop of half crumbled buildings. The shriek of a titan nearby shattered the wind-soaked silence.

"If anything, this is only training," Jean muttered. And what for. None of this seemed to advance their mission in any tangible way. Wall Maria and all of the corresponding land was still lost-and for all soldiers killed trekking into enemy territory they seemed no closer to reclaiming what rightfully belonged to humanity. If not for being ripped apart by titans, what good were their lives? How many more like Marco would be struck down in the prime of youth without a hint of recognition or dignity, lost in the tide of death-as insignificant as blades of grass burned in the wake of a wildfire? Just one more day. One more day was all it would have taken for both Marco and Jean to be safely within the confines of the innermost wall, safe from this nightmare where denial would cost them nothing.

If the Battle of Trost had just occurred one day later—

"Watch out." It was Mikasa, hair whipping into her face. She jerked backwards to avoid the explosion of tiles and rubble as a titan burst through the house in front of her. She twisted around, hitting the ground and taking off down an alley.

From the building beside, Jean angled after her and Eren. "Just have to lead this little fucker over to—"

The titan charged on four legs over the roof-

-A chunk of debris slammed into one of Jean's 3DMG lines and yanked him sideways so sharply that he tasted blood in the wake of sharp pain in his side. The ground—-no the side of a building—crashed into his body—or vice versa. His yelp was lost to the hollow ringing in his ears and the black that exploded in place of consciousness.

Through the murky depths Jean heard Eren scream as if through water. "JEAN!"

And then the transition of harsh panic to a gentle chiding laugh and the prickle of sunlight across his cheek. The bark of a tree was rough against his back. A gentle breeze lifted the scent of waving grass into the air.

"Jean, wake up. The Military Police isn't a ticket to slacking off, you know."

Jean opened his eyes to a face full of freckles.

"…Marco?"


	2. A New What-if

"Yes…?" Marco tilted his head, but offered a hand so that Jean could pull himself to his feet. "How long were you asleep anyway? You seem a little out of it."

Unsteady, Jean supported most of his weight against the tree, head tilted sideways, bark digging into his temple like the remnant of some pain that he should be feeling—

Intense pain.

Pain that came from rubble collapsing on one's body.

He winced, the titan's snarl flashing before his eyes. The breath snatching from his lungs with the yank of 3DMG. The building slamming into him. Eren's screaming. Instant darkness.

Then Marco's face. Not burnt out. Mouth not twisted in agony. Skin not ice cold and white as death. Arms and legs present, long and limber. Freckles sprinkled over cheeks vibrant with life.

Jean choked. "Oh fuck it, I'm dead, I've died." Still, he reached trembling fingertips to graze Marco's face. Warmth. His breath caught in his throat. Eyes squeezed through tears he hadn't realized were forming. They were hot against his face.

Marco's expression pinched into concern, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open as he tilted his head to one side. "Jean? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?"

Jean brought a sleeve to rip through the tears in his eyes, sniffled, but slapped a grin on his face. It looked more like a pained grimace. "Of course not. I just—-I was just having a nightmare. Whatsit to you?"

Marco shrugged, but rested a hand on his back. He hesitated when Jean flinched, but the other soon relaxed into his touch, like finally surrendering to a sort of weariness he'd been struggling against all along.

"C'mon," said Marco, helping him along out through the little grove of apple trees, past a gate, and back into the brick streets of the inner city. "Let's go find some food. They had us up pretty late last night escorting those prisoners, so you're probably exhausted. A bit of nutrition should help!"

Jean was silent until they reached the barracks. He shed his jacket, but hesitated over it a minute, laid out over his bed, the unicorn insignia flowing with the rolls of bunched fabric. Military police. Cautiously, he glanced over at Marco, catching a glimpse of the Unicorn stamped on the pocket on his chest. So this really was the inner city, and that really was Marco standing over there shedding the belts and loops of his 3DMG gear and tucking the metal consoles beneath his bed. Jean looked down at himself and did the same. He felt naked without the constraining belts, but when he rolled up his shirt, he found that the bruises from the bands across his chest were faded into a dull grey. They had been red the day before—vivid from constant fighting and maneuvering in the recon corp, the leather digging through his shirt into his skin with each movement. But here, with the military police…?

"Jean…?"

The other quickly yanked his shirt down again.

Marco only laughed. "There'll be time to check yourself out later. C'mon!" He walked out the door without waiting.

Realizing that he had no idea where to go, Jean jogged to catch up. His legs wobbled with the lengthened stride, but he clapped a hand to Marco's shoulder to play it off as he settled back into a walk. "Sooooo, any idea what's for dinner?" His hand remained longer than necessary, as if he was determined to keep a hold of Marco, like some titan would come crashing through the wall and snatch him away again.

"I suppose the same thing as usual," Marco said. He tilted his head again, lips pursed, but said nothing.

The mess hall was alive with the chatter of soldiers scattered across wooden tables or couches, metal trays in their laps overflowing with fruit and vegetables and chunks of beef. A few commanders huddled around a table in the back, sipping idly at beers, completely at ease. Once they retrieved their food, Marco led Jean to a table of unfamiliar faces.

"Annie's gone again?" Marco asked as he rested his tray down. "Is she sick or something? I noticed she wasn't here during drills this morning again…" His brows furrowed, but he took a few bites of a bread which he'd smeared butter on.

Jean slouched onto the bench beside him. He ate voraciously. Food like this nonexistent in the forest where the best they had were dried rations and tough strips of jerky when rabbits were scarce.

"She's probably just skipping out, that lazy bitch," a guy opposite answered with a little shrug. "It's not like she's missing much, but it's definitely a bit of an insult to the rest of us who drag ourselves through the patrols each day." He barked a little laugh, "Maybe they'll throw her back outside this wall if she continues to disgrace the insignia like that."

Marco shook his head. "Hmm, doesn't really seem like her." He tugged Jean's sleeve with a little smile, "If anything, I'm just glad we all made it safely and can make a difference to mankind. I'm sure Annie is too."

"Better than being slaughtered in the Battle of Trost with the rest of those dumbasses!" the same soldier sneered. He rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer.

Marco's lips tugged into a little frown.

Jean nearly choked on huge chunk of potato in his mouth. An uneasiness coiled in his chest. The room took on a radio silence where talking could not penetrate the dull haze cloaked over his mind. The food lost its taste.

Jean did not speak again until Marco stood to put his tray away. He followed him as far as the conveyor belt, but made a grab for the back of his jacket. Then he just stood there, clutching at the fabric over the Military Police Unicorn. Marco froze.

"Marco, I just have one question to ask," Jean said quietly. "Exactly…what happened in the Battle of Trost? Were we—were we there?"

Without turning, Marco answered just as softly. "Jean, of course we weren't there. We were here training for the Military Police. You know that."

"So, all those people died? Just the Garrison people? People like—-people like Mikasa and Eren were fine? Out with the Recon Corps like crazy dumbasses?"

Marco hung his head, "You know I haven't really heard either way. But they didn't really have the opportunity to pick yet. Don't you remember, the Military Police demanded its enlistees a few days early to deal with that uprising. The other two branches were to collect their members sometime after. So—-I can only hope and pray that Eren and Mikasa are alive and well after the horrific events of Trost, but I can't say for sure, and I'm not sure who to ask to find out."

Jean grit his teeth. "But people were slaughtered-?"

Marco nodded. Finally he turned, tugging free of Jean's grip to look him in the eye. His own melted with a quiet sadness, an innocence that persisted in the wake of tragedy. "I heard that a lot of the soldiers ran out of gas and the supply team was overtaken before they could bring fresh supplies."

Jean's expression darkened. A memory flashed in his eyes. Running out of gas and unable to fight or flee. Mikasa and Armin's exchange. Convincing the others to follow, to meet the resuppliers, to not accept death at its terms. The rogue titan. Breaking in and using old rifles to outsmart the 4m titans wandering in the supply. Marco at his side. He squeezed eyes shut. "But they—-what about a rogue titan? There was a titan who helped."

"Jean—-I don't know anything about that," Marco said. "I heard they managed to seal the hole in the wall-—but there are a lot of rumors about that, and they keep it all so well hushed up." He took Jean's arm in his, aware of the prying eyes and desperate to get Jean, who was trembling and pale, back to his room so he could rest. "Come on. You don't look so good, so you're going to lie down a little bit…" He had begun to shake himself.

Once he'd gotten Jean into his bed and tucked in, he sat across in his own. "Why…why all these questions all of a sudden? Jean, did something happen?" Wide eyes expressed nothing but confused concern.

Jean shook his head with a little grunt. "I just—" He bit back a flow of curses, took a few deep breaths, and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. When he did speak, his voice was softer than ever. "I just, I wonder if things could have turned out differently—"

_If I had been there, they would have,_ he realized.

"I don't know," Marco murmured. "We can't really…know these things. And we can't change the past no matter how hard we try to puzzle through 'what-ifs' and stuff like that. I think what's important is today. You and me? We're alive and breathing today and we have to keep our eyes forward for humanity. Maybe there's a reason we were summoned early to the Military Police. Maybe if we'd been there, we'd be dead too," He frowned, pensive, and leaned back into his bed with a small sigh. "I know that sounds horrible and it was probably all just dumb luck and coincidence. But because we're alive today, we can contribute to tomorrow." When he turned, half his face was clothed in the darkness of the sun setting through the window. A lone lantern clung tight to the feeble light it gave. "Jean," Marco continued, "Never forget that I believe in you. It's because you have such a good heart, and that you care about all those lives lost, that you'll be a good leader. People will look up to you for that. They'll trust you to do what's best."

Jean swallowed and drew his blanket up over his head. "Go to sleep," he managed. "S'what I'm doing."

Marco chuckled a little bit, but it was sad and quiet. "Good. You'll feel a lot better in the morning, I'm sure. Apparently we have a lot going on, but the commander wouldn't tell us much about it. I guess us rookies don't get to know much about anything yet." He yawned and settled into his pillow, ignoring the sway of the bunk as another soldier entered and climbed up. Two shoes clopped onto the wood floor one after the other. He was asleep by the time the rest of their roommates filed into bed with the rustle of discarded clothes and the creaking of mattresses.

But Jean was awake, and no matter how he rolled over and tossed and turned, he could not fall asleep. His head had begun to pound again. He tasted a mixture of blood and bile in the back of his throat. His blanket, scratchy and thin, started to smother him; the air beneath it was too stale.

Finally, he ripped it from over his face. A lone moonbeam dappled over the floor and fell across the freckles on Marco's face. They were dark, unlike the prickle of stars out the window, yet scattered across his cheeks like quiet constellations. He slept peacefully, expression lax.

Jean studied him silently until he felt a sense of calm fall over him. This hellhole wasn't heaven, but it wasn't exactly hell either. This was…real life? Had everything before—-the rogue titan, the recon corps, Lance Corporal Levi, the forest of big-ass trees, the female titan, the titan-shifters, the mission to capture titans—-been one long, hellish nightmare?

His sheets fell from his body with a rustle as he slid out of bed to brush fingers over Marco's nose. It twitched.

Marco was there. He was there and he was warm and he was breathing and he was beautiful. And, when Jean grazed his lips over Marco's, they were dry and tangible and as real as the hot breath had eased between them. He felt a pang of bittersweet sadness that wrenched heavily at his heart. He wanted nothing more to lay savage waste to those lips. To crawl into bed with Marco. To hold him tight and never let go. To protect him. To keep him alive and breathing.

Was this his own 'what-if'? Was this the second chance he'd yearned for-the reality he would wake to each morning, instead of the fear and cold and the silence of one who held tight to what-ifs about the freckled-face boy who believed in him and who never knew how Jean felt before death could snuff him out?

He felt a flicker of pain. For a wild moment he imagined his ribs broken, from the insistent stab of pain and the shortness of breath. But when he reached to press at his side, he was whole and the ache a fleeting memory, a hallucination even. With a little tremor, Jean crawled back into bed and slept.


End file.
